Howling for You
by wickeds
Summary: It's awkward enough that Stiles meets Derek on an online gaming community that battles mythical creatures - is it really necessary for some of the lore to be true? AU
1. Chapter 1

The screaming children and flashing lights weren't exactly what Derek had imagined when Stiles had introduced the idea of finally meeting face-to-face. He'll take what he can get, though, even if it means slogging through hoards of sticky children to reach the awkward teenager dressed in a palette of primary colors. "Stiles?" he asks.

"Holy mother of God, _this is not happening_."

_To: stilinskwiz95_

_From: actual_wolfman_

_Subject: Thanks again_

_Message: Just wanted to say thanks again for saving my life in the woods the other day. I probably would have thrown my laptop out the window if I'd had to start the Piper's Quest from the very beginning again lol. Also – my team needs one more member for the upcoming tourney, so if you're not already signed up with another group, you can join mine if you want._

_To: actual_wolfman_

_From: stilinskwiz95_

_Subject: Re: Thanks again_

_Message: Lol how did you know I needed a team for the tourney? I'll join, if it's okay with your friends… My name's Stiles, by the way._

_To: stilinskwiz95_

_From: actual_wolfman_

_Subject: Re: Re: Thanks again_

_Message: It's nice to meet you, Stiles. My name's Derek._

They'd met online. On a gaming community about battling mythical creatures, to be more precise. It happened in the woods, when Stiles was running away from a group of thieves and, since he wasn't paying attention (Scott had just brought in Taco Bell when this was happening), his horse almost trampled an injured man. He stopped to help heal him, and the conversation just started from there. One thing led to another, and soon enough, they were more than just tourney mates, going on quests, fighting monsters, saving princesses together. And the whole time, they were sending messages back and forth.

Stiles had never had an online friend before, and he was pretty sure he was supposed to follow some sort of Internet safety code of conduct, but he figured since he'd already given the guy his name, what else could he do wrong?

He didn't tell Scott about it, mostly because he was pretty sure Scott would either laugh or call the police. Luckily enough, a few months after he and Derek started talking, Scott met Allison. And Allison kept him occupied. _Really_ occupied. Stiles would groan internally every time Scott mentioned her name, which was literally _all the time_. He was eventually fed up enough that every time Scott came over to talk about the latest development in their relationship ("She wrinkled her nose when she laughed at something I said today, which she hasn't done before. Stiles, I think this means she really likes me") he would simply nod and grunt monosyllabic sounds of approval while focusing on typing a new message to Derek.

Scott _did_ find out, though, about three months after he met Allison (and two months after they started dating, six weeks after their first kiss, one week after they'd _really_ made out for the first time – Stiles no longer knew how to judge time without comparing it to Scott's love life), and Stiles wasn't surprised when Scott asked if he was _completely 100% sure _Derek wasn't a pedophile – He replied that no pedophile would wait more than a week to kidnap and molest an impressionable teenager. Besides, Stiles didn't think he was _that_ impressionable. He didn't.

Now Stiles is panicking, self-consciously smoothing the folds in his bright blue vinyl apron as Derek picks his way across the play area of the kids' arcade he works at. _This isn't happening_, he thinks. _This can't be happening. Oh my God, it's happening._

Derek smiles when he finally reaches the sweating teenager. "I have to be honest – I wasn't expecting our first meeting to be at a place where you have to be _under_ a certain height to enjoy yourself."

"I'm about to get off," he says, as if that rules out any logic that might say they could've met _after_ Stiles had a chance to change out of his ridiculous blue-and-yellow-striped pants. "You can wait outside, if you want. I have to change."

"No, I'm fine." Derek's still smiling, probably enjoying the scarlet flush currently creeping up Stiles' neck. _Why the hell did I tell him I work here?_ Kicking himself, he hurries to the changing rooms in the back, stumbling over a lost toy in his scramble to get out of Derek's line of sight.

He's shocked to see Derek waiting right outside the changing room door. "Holy –" He bites back his surprise as the older man – holy shit, _is_ he a man? – chuckles.

"Do I make you nervous?" He's smiling, and Stiles holds his breath as he stares blankly into Derek's eyes, which he notices are a really interesting shade of blue with flecks of sea green in them. _Crayola doesn't know what they're missing_, he thinks, and it's not until Derek is looking away, blushing, that he realizes he was thinking out loud. _Just let me die now._

"So," Derek says, leading the way through the throng of screaming kids. "What do you want to do?"

"Um." Stiles hadn't thought to consider what would actually have to _happen_ when two people meet outside the Internet for the first time – he'd been so preoccupied with not embarrassing himself in front of Derek (he really did well on that front, didn't he) that the idea of thinking of something to do had been on a completely different plane of thought. "I didn't… really… think… about that." He looks sideways at Derek, lips pursed as he self-consciously rubs a hand over his short hair. The tension in his stomach eases when Derek simply laughs, shaking his head slightly.

"I'm not surprised."

"No?"

"No. Which is why," he says, extracting two tickets from the pocket of his leather jacket (_How does someone who looks like he spends his time doing dangerous things like riding motorcycles even _think_ to join an online gaming community? _Stiles thinks incredulously), "I already have tickets for that zombie movie you were talking about last week."

"No way." Stiles is flabbergasted, to say the least. "Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously." Derek's smile grows bigger, and it only makes the swelling feeling in Stiles' stomach get worse. He looks down at one of the tickets. "It starts in like, thirty minutes, so we should probably get going."

"Do you think I'll have time to get popcorn?" Stiles asks as they approach Derek's sleek black Camaro. _Seriously, _how_ does this guy spend so much time on the computer?_

"Probably. I drive fast." Derek grins, and Stiles feels a momentary flash of horror that passes as soon as he notices the wonderful way the leather of the car seat cups his ass. _Nice._

The movie's good, and Stiles thanks whatever divine being that allowed this to happen for the chance to cling to Derek's strong forearm – it _is_ a horror movie, after all. Stiles doesn't even finish the giant tub of popcorn he'd insisted on purchasing despite the fact that they were already missing the previews by the time they arrived, he's so thrilled to be on, well, a _date_. At least, that's what he thinks this is.

"How'd you like it?" Derek asks as they exit the theater. The sunlight's blinding, and Stiles isn't surprised (he's somewhat aroused, actually) when he pulls out a pair of Ray Bans to shield his eyes.

"I… it was good." Stiles nods enthusiastically, catching Derek's smile from the corner of his eye. His stomach gets warm. "I thought the effects were okay."

"_Just_ okay?" He's fiddling with his keys now, trying to find the button to unlock the doors. Stiles hears a collective _pop_ before Derek opens the passenger side door for him. _Oh, my God._ He tries to calm himself enough to form a coherent response.

"Well, yeah." He finds it hard to breathe now that they're in a confined space together. "I mean –" he swallows some spit "– They were decent, don't get me wrong, but they could've been better." He shrugs, trying to stay cool and nonchalant (he has a feeling it isn't working). "I guess it was the budget or something."

"Well, I think the low-budget stuff keeps an air of the old-school horror. You know, the really good movies, like –"

"_The Blair Witch Project_?" He scoffs.

Derek levels him a look. "No. I was going to say something like _The Shining_, or –"

"So you're a movie buff, huh?" Stiles leers a bit at the faint pink spreading across Derek's face. "That's cute."

"Is it?" He puts the car into drive, quiet as he focuses on pulling out of the parking spot. "Because people normally get this glazed look in their eye when I start talking about older movies."

"Well, I'm not exactly your normal, everyday kid, am I?" Stiles likes the small smile working its way onto Derek's mouth, and he likes the fact that he's the reason for it even more.

"No, I don't believe you are."

Stiles doesn't know what it was he did, but he must have done _something_ right because Derek's kissing him, in his car, his hands on Stiles' neck to keep him from falling into the seizure he's almost completely sure he's about to have. He's groaning for more as Derek does things with his tongue Stiles had never before imagined a tongue _could_ be used for, and he's about to lose himself in the way it feels when Derek pulls away. "What, no, don't – don't do that." His eyes are half closed, his mouth hanging open, and he's stammering. _Real_ sexy. Derek just smiles softly.

"I'm not sure you can handle anything else," he murmurs, a slight smirk quirking his features in a way that makes Stiles want to put his mouth over every square inch of that stubbly face. "You already seem like you're about to pass out, and we're only on first base."

"Hey, that – that is not true," Stiles protests, but he can see from the way Derek's looking at him that he's not going to be winning that debate any time soon. Pursing his lips, he leans back into his seat. "I'm not as innocent as you think I am, okay?"

"You _just_ said this was your first kiss."

"I –" Stiles stops before he digs a deeper hole for himself. Derek's right, of course – as soon as they'd started kissing, he broke off to mumble something apologetic about never having kissed anyone before. "Whatever."

Derek chuckles. "Are you going to invite me in, then, or are you planning on sitting in my car for the rest of the night?"

Stiles looks up the driveway to the front of his house. His dad isn't home – he won't be home for another three hours – and he wants to keep Derek around, and he feels his stomach clench with a fizzy feeling when he thinks of Derek in his room, sprawled across his bed, his shirt possibly tossed onto the floor while Stiles is busy licking –

"Stiles?"

"Huh?"

"Can we go in?"

"Yeah, um. Yeah. Come on." He trips when he takes his first step out of the car, almost falling, but not quite. While Derek laughs, Stiles just takes a deep breath through his nose and chews on the inside of his lower lip. _Great._

Once inside, Stiles feels supremely awkward. It had been one thing imagining Derek outside of his computer – it was a completely different thing seeing him sitting at his kitchen table, one leg propped up on the nearby counter. "Are you… hungry?" he asks. Derek shakes his head, smiling smugly. "Nope," he says, popping the 'p.'

Stiles purses his lips. _Okay. _ "Um. Wanna see my room?" He cringes internally when Derek raises his eyebrows, but he plows forward – or, at least, tries to. "I mean, not to – not to do… anything, just, um…" He swallows. Derek's watching him, and he can't look away. "See… where I, uh… where…" He trails off, breathing through his mouth as Derek gets up and stretches, revealing a tantalizing line of dark hair leading from his navel to below the waistline of his pants that makes Stiles' breathing stop short.

"Lead the way," he says, politely gesturing for Stiles to start the procession. Stiles smiles stiffly, cursing himself repeatedly as he steps into the hallway. Derek follows silently, and Stiles notices how quiet he is, how he can barely hear his footfalls, and he's starting to imagine that he's closer that he'd have Stiles believe, almost breathing down his neck, ready to grab him from behind with a low growl –

Then he reaches his room, which looks like a scene from a refugee camp.

Stifling a shriek of horror , he hurries to pick up the clothes and debris as quickly as humanly possible while Derek picks his way across to the desk, where he sits down. "So this is where the magic happens, huh?" he says, smiling at his own wit.

"Um." Stiles stops mid-frenzy, his hands full of dirty clothes as he takes in the long, stretched-out body lounging in his gray plastic swivel chair. Derek toes the carpet, twisting this way and that as he watches Stiles. "Isn't that phrase more often used in reference to other pieces of furniture? I mean, _Juno _is, of course, an awesome movie, but even then, it was an armchair, and –"

"Stiles." Derek's standing now, reaching for Stiles' wrists to make him let go of the dirty laundry. "Shut up."

"I –" But they're kissing again, and Stiles forgets all about babbling incoherently as Derek's tongue is yet again doing things to his mouth he can't quite believe. He groans into the kiss as he awkwardly guides Derek across the small space until they're tripping over the side of the bed, Derek falling bodily on top of Stiles, causing the smaller teenager to let out a gasp of surprise. "You okay?" Derek asks, and Stiles pulls his face back to his own for a reply.

After a while Derek insists that they take a break. Stiles protests vehemently, and for a while he sulks – that is, until his dad comes home half an hour later. _Then_ he finds himself profoundly relieved to be doing nothing more than lying side-by-side on his bed. "Stiles?" Stiles yelps and rolls off of the bed, scrambling to the desk as the sheriff's voice – and footsteps – get louder as he climbs the stairs. "Whose car is that in the driveway? Is that friend of yours over? I hope – oh, hi." Stiles isn't sure what it is he sees on his father's face, but he's pretty sure it wouldn't be called a pleasant expression. "You must be Derek?"

"I…" Stiles can't help but notice how Derek looks _exactly_ like an escaped convict in a searchlight as the sheriff watches him squirm.

He scrambles to the rescue. "Dad, this is Derek, my friend from… well, you know."

"It's nice to meet you, Derek." Sheriff Stilinski smiles, and his son notices how it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Are you planning on staying for dinner?"

"Uh…" Part of Stiles is rather pleased to have the opportunity to see Derek stammer like his brain is frying, but that part of him is quickly overpowered by the ardent desire to cut this conversation short as soon as possible.

"He is." Derek shoots him a horrified look.

"Well, I hope you're okay with Stouffer's lasagna," the sheriff says, giving both boys a knowing look that says _Don't think I don't know what's going on with you two.._

And then he's gone, and Derek's breathing like he had just encountered a raging bull instead of a middle-aged small town sheriff. "Stiles, your dad scares me."

Stiles waves a dismissive hand. "It's his job as a dad. He just has the luck of being a cop, too."

"Does he – what does he know about – about _us_?"

Stiles shrugs. "Just that we met online."

"Are you sure?"

"I mean, obviously, we had a talk about Internet safety, and I'm pretty sure he was convinced you were a 40 year-old pedophile until we started talking on the phone and he heard himself that you couldn't possibly be more than _at least_ 20, tops."

"Wouldn't your dad still not like his seventeen year-old son talking to a 20 year-old?"

"Yeah, well, it's not as bad as the first conclusion he jumped to."

Derek just nods. "Well, that's good."

Dinner is extremely uncomfortable, but all three of them manage, somehow. It's nothing special, just lasagna from the freezer with bread and a salad that's really just lettuce with dressing. Stiles is slightly embarrassed by the severely underwhelming meal, but Derek doesn't seem to care – he eats four or five servings, Stiles having lost count after three.

Later, when the table's been cleared and Derek's helped with the dishes, it's time for him to leave, and Stiles is allowed five minutes on the porch to say goodbye ("And not a second more_,_ you understand?" his dad warns).

"So, that was a lot more awkward than I'd thought it would be," Stiles says, rocking back onto his heels as he stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets.

Derek laughs once through his nose. "Trust me, I've seen worse."

"So have I," says Stiles, "on TV."

"Yeah, well, you haven't been to some of my family dinners." Derek's looking at his feet, and the awkward, self-conscious kid Stiles suddenly sees sparks a feeling of intimacy that's been hovering around the periphery of his senses all day. He takes a step forward and puts his arms around the narrow part of Derek's waist. "What are you…" He trails off as Stiles nuzzles into the hollow at the junction of his neck and shoulder. "You're comfy," he mumbles into Derek's warm skin. Derek laughs, and Stiles feels the low rumble reverberate through his body. It feels nice.

"I still can't believe you had milk with lasagna," he says.

Stiles leans back, eyebrows furrowed. "What, I'm a growing boy."

"I guess you are." He eyes his string bean body appreciatively.

Stiles starts to argue, but closes his mouth. "That was sarcasm, wasn't it?"

Derek nods before catching Stiles' lips in a quick peck. "I should go. I don't want your dad bursting out of the house waving his shotgun at me because I kept you a second over your limit."

"But I don't want you to leave." Stiles clings tighter, only to be pried off by a reluctant Derek.

"I'll see you later." He winks, and then he's off to his car. Stiles stays on the porch as he climbs in and pulls out of the driveway. He jumps when his dad opens the door almost as soon as the sleek black shadow turns onto the next street. "Jesus, Dad, you're gonna give me a heart attack."

"Sorry." His dad shoots him a sheepish smile. "Can't you come in? It's cold out."

Rolling his eyes, Stiles comes in nonetheless, following his dad into the living room, where he sees _Secret Millionaire_ on the TV. He sits next to his dad on the couch, and they take a moment to settle in.

"So, Stiles." His dad keeps his eyes trained on the TV as he speaks. "Is Derek…" He swallows. "Is this… something I should be worried about?"

_Way to keep the peace, Dad_. Stiles' stomach feels like it's about to reject the dinner it's been digesting. "Um, if you mean 'worry' in the same sense as any dad whose only child is about to embark on their first romantic encounter, then yeah, probably."

His dad nods. "Okay."

Stiles looks twice at his dad. "You – you mean – you're not worried about Derek being older than me, or the fact that two days ago you were convinced he was a 40 year-old predator?"

His dad continues watching the screen and shrugs. "Of course I'm not _exactly_ happy that he's already graduated from high school, but I trust you enough to make the right decisions." He glances over at Stiles' slack jawed expression. "What? He seems like a nice kid."

"I just…" Stiles smiles, appreciation for his dad and the effort he's making for his son exploding through him like a nuclear bomb of warm, fuzzy feelings. "Thanks, Dad."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

They both know he's lying, though.


	2. Chapter 2

"So… how did it go?" It's lunchtime, and Scott's trying to wheedle answers out of Stiles, but he's determined to keep _some_ semblance of a personal life. Besides, it's not like he's going to openly admit how much he likes having something special to withhold.

"I don't know," he says, grinning. "It was okay?"

"Come on, Stiles." Allison tries her hand at cajoling him into revealing something, but it's not going to work. "Throw us a bone."

"Nope," Stiles says, popping the 'p' as Derek had.

Both Scott and Allison groan, and Stiles laughs smugly. "You're being an ass," Scott complains.

"Sorry, but I can't really tell you anything." He shrugs apologetically. "I'm not even sure what we _are_, technically, and, well, I don't want to jinx it, or whatever."

Allison smiles and says, "That's cute," which elicits a scowl from Stiles. "What?" she laughs.

"I'm not cute," he grumbles. "I can be intimidating."

"Sorry, but no," she says, reaching out to rub her hand over his short hair; he ducks away. "You're like a baby deer."

"Scott, I blame you for this," Stiles says, glaring accusingly at his friend's sheepish face. "You just _had_ to tell her all the weird things about me, didn't you?"

Scott apologizes, but Stiles is too happy about his date from last night to care. As the couple starts arguing about who tells who the embarrassing stories, he simply rests his chin on the heel of his hand, sighing contentedly.

"Holy – God!" Stiles moves his hand faster, groaning as he feels himself getting closer to climaxing. He's about to slide out of the chair, but he's too busy concentrating on the task at hand to care. He gasps, feeling everything begin to contract when his phone goes off, the vibrations creating a loud whine that makes him fall off of the chair. _Fuck._ He's feeling angry and resentful until he sees who it is that's calling. Then he's just mortified. Grabbing his phone with his other hand, he answers. "Derek!"

"What are you up to?"

"Um." He gulps, panic starting to take over as he tries to think of something else he could have just been doing. "I, ah, was just, you know… stuff."

"That didn't sound very convincing."

"Well, it's – it's just homework, really…" Stiles frowns as he looks over the books and papers lying pell-mell on his desk. He had been working on an essay for AP European History when the urge to jerk off had become unbearable. "Why are you calling?"

"Is your dad home?" It's like he's not even listening.

"No, he's at the station until six, why are you even asking – oh, my God." It suddenly hits Stiles that he's lying on the floor of his room, naked and still a little horny, talking to the very person his head had been full of moments before, and that said person is asking if there is any parental supervision nearby. He shudders.

"What?"

"Are you –" Stiles sits up, and his hand unconsciously goes to his crotch to cradle his dick. "Why are you calling me?" He can't help it – his hand starts stroking again, and his breathing gets heavier. He hopes Derek assumes he was doing something impressive, like working out.

"I…" Stiles can hear Derek's breathing get heavier, too. _Oh, my God. _"What are you doing?"

Stiles gulps as his erection becomes more pronounced. Damn Derek and his stupid, sexy voice. "I – I was just… just, uh…"

"Just… what?"

Now he can't breathe. "I, uh, I can't… say… exactly…"

Derek's voice seems like it's an entire octave lower as he says, "Were you thinking of me?" Stiles' heart skips what feels like three beats. "Would you like to know what _I _was just doing?"

Stiles finds himself temporarily incapable of speech as Derek murmurs, "I was just working on my Camaro. You know how it was really hot today? I was stripped down to my wifebeater and covered in oil and grease by the time I was done." He shivers as he pictures Derek bent over the inside of his car, jeans tight over his ass.

"I wish I hadn't told you about my thing for mechanics," he mumbles, but he continues to stroke, goosebumps prickling across his arms as Derek chuckles lowly. _Good God almighty._

He goes on. "After that, I took a shower, trying to clear my head. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you all day. Every time I try, you manage to worm your way back into my head. It's driving me crazy."

Now it's all he can do to keep himself from passing out. "I got yelled at by my Econ teacher for not paying attention in class because all I could think about was how nice it felt kissing you," he says breathlessly.

Derek laughs softly, and Stiles notices the flirtatious edge to it. "Do you want to know what else I'd really like to do with you?"

"Do I have to ask?" Stiles is letting his voice grow somewhat husky, and he's pretty sure it sounds ridiculous.

"I'd prefer it if you did."

Stiles licks his lips. "What else do you want to do to me, Derek?"

Derek sighs, the sound hot and heavy in the receiver. Stiles shudders again. "I want to do so much with you, Stiles." _Holy shit._ "When I was in the shower, I kept thinking of the way you're always groaning when I kiss you, like you're constantly on the cusp of coming in your pants." His breath hitches, and Stiles feels his hips jerk into his moving hand. "Do you want to know what else I was thinking about?"

"Y-yes!" Stiles can barely breathe as he starts rubbing harder and harder.

"I kept imagining you were in the shower with me, and that I had you pressed against the tile with one hand on your neck and the other around your dick." Sounds of skin rubbing over skin come through the receiver, and for a moment the line is filled with nothing but the sound of heavy breathing on both ends. As it starts becoming too much for Stiles to handle, Derek murmurs, "I want to hear you groaning like you're out of control – what it feels like to have you grinding your ass into my crotch, and – fuck!"

There's a strangled cry as Derek climaxes; Stiles isn't far behind.

They're both quiet for a few minutes, each content with nothing more than the sound of the other breathing sleepily into the receiver. Finally, Stiles musters up enough energy to speak. "Derek?" he says softly.

"Yeah?"

"I hope it's better when we're in the same room."

Tired laughter. "I hope so, too." His voice perks up. "But not until you're eighteen!"

"Come on!" Stiles whines, but Derek is nothing if not adamant.

He has to go, then, and by the time Stiles has put his phone down and found some pants, his dad is coming into the house, shouting up the stairwell that he picked up Chinese on his way home. Stiles takes a moment to celebrate before making a quick stop in the bathroom to wash his hands. Then, after a cursory sniff to make sure nothing's too out of place, he's in the kitchen, picking through the big brown bag as his dad takes off his boots and hangs up his gun belt in the front hallway – something he's done since before Stiles could remember.

"You didn't get orange chicken?" Stiles exaggerates his disappointment, breaking into a laugh as his dad pretends to whack his shoulder. "Set the table," he says, and Stiles complies.

"So, how was your day?" his dad asks once they've settled into their respective seats at the table.

Stiles takes a sip of his milk, taking his time. "It was okay." He tries not to blush as his dad studies him.

"School good?"

"Just like every other Monday."

"Homework?"

"Not too bad."

"How's Scott?"

"In love."

His dad nods. "That's good." A moment of chewing, then, "How's Derek?"

"He's… good." There's a moment of eye contact that Stiles prays will never, _ever _happen again.

"Talk to him lately?"

_He knows about what happened over the phone. _"Um, we texted, a bit…"

"He's doing fine?"

"Dad, it's only been, like, a _day_ since we saw each other. I doubt _that_ much has happened."

"You'd be surprised how much can happen in one day. You and Scott used to watch all those John Hughes movies all the time, didn't you?"

"Yeah, in _middle school_, because we didn't have any money for anything _fun_, and between you and his mom the most recent movie was from before we were born." Stiles can't believe the things his dad chooses to remember.

"We had recent movies," his dad argues. "We had that copy of _Finding Nemo_ until Scott broke it in half trying to see how flexible the disk was."

Stiles chuckles. "That's true."

"So I can expect to see more of Derek?"

Stiles stops chewing and watches his dad. "I… guess so. I mean," he looks down at his nearly-empty paper plate, "I'm not really totally sure what's happening between us." He looks up, catching the blue eyes he didn't inherit. "But… I think… I have a good feeling about it, if that's what you mean."

His dad smiles. "Just remind him that I carry a gun with me at all times."

He laughs. "Trust me, dad, he's aware of that."

The next few days pass. Scott's still oblivious to the world, too head-over-heels to really care about anything except Allison, which doesn't surprise Stiles at all. What _does_ surprise him is the fact that he gets no word from Derek at all – no emails, no texts, no calls – nothing. He's worried it's because of what happened over the phone, that maybe Derek thought better of going out with an underage virgin whose first date had been with someone he'd met online. He wouldn't blame him for that – it's not like Stiles would pick himself as his first choice, either, but still.

He tries not to think about the possibility that Derek had only done this with Stiles as a – well – as an experiment. _Maybe he doesn't like me that way, after all._ And if Stiles is being honest, that hurts more.

He must be moping, because by Thursday his dad is asking about it over dinner. "You seem down," he says, eyeing his son carefully.

Stiles shrugs. "It's nothing, really."

"Are you sure? 'Cause when you normally make spaghetti, it has meatballs." Stiles looks up to see his dad twirling his fork pointedly through the decidedly meatless mixture of pasta and sauce.

"I…"

"Is it about Derek?"

Reluctantly, he nods.

His dad sighs and puts his fork down. "What's happened? Did he hurt you?"

"I – no, Dad. I'm fine, really."

The sheriff levels him a look. "You aren't fine."

"I just…" Stiles opens his mouth, then closes it. He thinks for a minute. "I just haven't… heard from him. Since Monday."

"How often do the two of you usually talk?"

"At least once a day?" He shrugs. "I mean, we usually text a little, just see what's up and all."

"And this hasn't happened?" Stiles appreciates the fact that his dad is pretending to understand the dynamics of a friendship that isn't based on face-to-face contact.

"No, which is what's weird. And kind of depressing, if I'm being honest." Stiles smiles, but his heart isn't into it. His dad sighs sympathetically.

"You know you can talk to me, Stiles," he says. "I may not completely understand what's going on, but I'm here for you, bud." He reaches across the table to grab onto Stiles' forearm reassuringly. "And if you want me to use my gun on that kid, all you have to do is ask."

Stiles laughs, looking away in embarrassment. "Does it really always have to come back to the gun, Dad?"

"As long as I'm a cop, of course it does."

"That's nice."

By Friday, even Scott has noticed that something's off. "Dude, what's wrong? Everything okay with Derek?"

Stiles scrambles to shush him, because they're in Chemistry and Mr. Harris has already given them the evil eye two times in the last thirty minutes of class. "Scott, I am _not_ getting another detention because Harris decides it's been too long since the last time," he whispers furiously as he copies down the notes from the front of the room. "And don't mention Derek. Other people might get ideas."

Scott scoffs. "What kind of ideas?"

"I don't _know_, Scott, just… ideas!" He looks around, panicking, and notices that Danny has been watching them the whole time. He waves sheepishly.

"Stiles!" The aforementioned student closes his eyes and takes a deep breath as he waits for the urge to punch Scott in the groin to recede. Mr. Harris stops in front of his table. "Care to share with the class what's so important that you have to discuss it with Scott while everyone else is trying to take notes?"

Stiles looks up, meeting the cold gray eyes that remind him so much of a dead cat. "We… we were just talking about how awesome ionic bonds are, Mr. Harris."

"Of course you were." The teacher turns away, and Stiles and Scott collectively breathe a sigh of relief.

"I swear to God, Scott, if that had gotten me detention…" Stiles shakes his head and glares.

"Sorry."

Stiles doesn't talk to Scott for the rest of class, but by the time the bell rings, only a mild exasperation is left.

"So did anything happen with Derek?" Scott presses as they walk to lacrosse.

"_Nothing_ happened with Derek. Literally," When Scott just looks at him he says, "_Nothing_ has happened." He waits for the statement to sink in.

"So… that's why you're upset? He hasn't done anything?"

"Exactly, Scott, thanks for playing." Scott scowls, and Stiles ignores him. "It just sucks, because I thought I had a good feeling about what was happening." They turn a corner, and Stiles unconsciously starts to hold his breath as they pass Lydia Martin.

"I can't believe that, despite all this with Derek, you still get this way around her," Scott says once they turn another corner.

"I can't help what's been inside of me for so long," Stiles sighs. Another day ignored. _There's always tomorrow_. "Besides, since Derek's apparently out of the picture, I can go back to normal anyway, right?"

"I'm not sure that's for the better." Stiles knows Scott wishes he would leave his obsession with Lydia, but he also knows that'll never happen. At least it means his friend still cares.

"I'm not sure anything's for the better." Stiles sighs, and he knows he's acting like a moody thirteen year-old girl, but it really isn't his fault – it's Derek's. "I'm not sure anything will get better."

"Aw, cheer up." Scott punches Stiles' shoulder encouragingly. Stiles just scowls. "There are other fish in the sea."

"I'm not sure that there are any as attractive and sexy as Lydia or Derek, though." They're in the locker room now, and Scott's starting to give him weird looks, but he presses on. "I mean, I'm pretty sure I'll never react the same way to someone kissing me." He looks at his friend. "It was… it was probably the best thing I've ever experienced."

Scott nods knowingly. "I feel that way with Allison. Like, no matter what happens, as long as I know that she's with me, like, completely there for me, I can do anything."

Stiles deflates. "Thanks for being aware of how what you say affects me, there, Scott," he deadpans.

"Oh, my God, Stiles, I'm sorry –"

"Bilinski!"

_Jesus Christ, what now? _He turns to Coach Finstock and tries to look like he isn't in one of the worst moods of his life. "Yes, Coach?"

"Good news, you're on the field today." Coach claps Stiles on the shoulder, making him almost fall down. "You, too, McCall – don't look so shocked, you're playing dummy today!" He walks away, leaving them with their mouths hanging.

"Better luck next time, huh?" Jackson Whittemore's smirking from the other end of the room, wearing nothing but a towel. Stiles tries not to think about how nice his six pack looks by focusing on the fact that he looks like he's smelling poop. "I guess not all of us are cut out for first line duties." He chuckles at his own wit, and Stiles has to place a calming hand on Scott's shoulder because he looks like he's about to charge the star athlete with all of the force of an underdeveloped bull. "Leave it," he says.

Practice that day is awful. Finstock has Stiles and Scott set up as targets for the first line players to tackle and shove to the ground however they please. By the time it's over, Stiles is almost certain that one of his ribs was bruised in the process.

"That's it, I'm quitting lacrosse." Scott's throwing his gear down in a mini-tantrum as the rest of the team heads off to shower. "I'm so sick of Finstock degrading us like that. I had an asthma attack out there and he told me to rub some dirt into it! _How do you rub dirt into your lungs_?"

"Dude, I know." Stiles slumps against his locker and lets his head droop like a wilting flower. "I'm pretty sure Jackson broke something in my chest. Your mom wouldn't happen to be able to tell if one of my ribs is split in half, would she?"

Scott just shrugs. He winces as he takes off his practice jersey. "Do you think Coach would mind if I switched into something like art?"

"There's always floral design," Stiles says. "I hear they'll take just about anyone."

"Flowers can trigger my asthma, though." Scott looks disappointed.

"Sorry." Stiles hears the sounds of male bonding in the shower come to a slow-down and starts to hurry.

"What's the rush?" Scott's watching the entrance to the showers, debating on whether or not it's worth facing the humiliation.

"They're finishing up in there, and I don't know about you, but I am _not_ going to be here to take more of Jackson's crap." Stiles gives up on getting out of his lacrosse uniform on time and starts shoving the rest of his clothes into his gym bag – school's over in a few minutes, anyway.

Scott groans, deciding to follow Stiles' example and grumbling to himself as he does so. By the time they're leaving they can hear Jackson whooping as he leaves the showers. "Glad we missed that," Scott mumbles.

Stiles isn't paying attention, though, because he's looking at his phone, at the message from Derek.

_From: Wolfman_

_Stiles, I'm so sorry for disappearing like that. Is there any way I can make it up to you?_

He doesn't realize he's doing nothing except staring at the screen until they've reached the Jeep and Scott's asking if he's ever going to unlock the doors.

"Stiles, what's wrong?"

"I… it's nothing." He unlocks the car and climbs in. While Scott gets himself adjusted, he responds.

_Derek, you've got some 'splainin' to do._


	3. Chapter 3

_To: stilinskwiz95  
From: actual_wolfman  
Subject: Are you busy? _

_Message: Meet me at the old Hale house at 9 Friday night?_

_To: actual_wolfman  
From: stilinskwiz95_

_Subject: Re: Are you busy?_

_Message: Oddly enough, that wasn't my first choice for having this conversation. But sure, I'll be there._

_To: stinlinskwiz95_

_From: actual_wolfman_

_Subject: Re: Re: Are you busy?_

_Message: One more thing – bring a lantern, if you have one._

Stiles has a lantern; of that he's certain. Of why, exactly, Derek had to pick the creepiest spot in Beacon Hills – well, he has no idea. But he's there, parked in his old blue Jeep, wondering where on earth Derek could be. He checks his watch – 9:30. Frustrated and sighing, he slumps further down into the seat, ignoring the part of his brain that's noticing all of the scary noises coming from the surrounding woods. He wants to be full of fury when Derek shows up, not quivering like a frightened child.

Suddenly there's a loud, screeching noise that causes Stiles to nearly jump out of his seat, and then Derek's running out of the woods, shirtless. Derek's shouting – more like screaming – at Stiles to turn on the Jeep, though, which he scrambles to accomplish. He can barely grip the key enough to turn it, his hands are shaking so badly, and by the time Derek's clambering in, shouting at him to go, he snaps.

"What the hell is this?" he yells, turning to the panting, sweaty mass next to him with a hard look on his face. "Care to explain? What the _fuck_, Derek? You initiate a dirty phone call and then you have the audacity to completely –"

"Stiles, I really am sorry, but now is not the time!" Derek's reaching across, trying to turn the key himself. Stiles tries to smack his hand away, but a threatening look instantly quells any violence on his part. "I need you to _drive_." Stiles can tell he's doing his best to keep his anger in check, but frankly, he doesn't care.

"No," he says. "I want to know _why_ you tell me to meet you _here_, of all places, and leave me here for _thirty minutes_ until you show up –"

"That's it." Stiles shrieks when Derek places his hands on his waist, _lifting_ him out of his seat and holding him up as he switches spots. "_I'll_ drive."

Stiles is already protesting when something flies past the front of the Jeep, hitting a tree with a blinding flash of white light. "Oh, my God!"

Derek's taking off, then, and they're hurtling down the unpaved road leading to the highway at speeds Stiles didn't even know his Jeep was capable of reaching. He finds himself gripping something, anything, to keep himself from being thrown onto the ceiling with every bump in the road. "Where are we going?" he yells, and he feels like he's about to vomit out his heart.

Derek doesn't say anything, just tightens his jaw and keeps his eyes focused on driving like a maniac. "Okay," Stiles says. "You're not going to talk? Fine. Fine! I don't care! I don't –"

But suddenly there are headlights in the mirrors, and then there's a pack of SUVs in hot pursuit with guns literally blazing. Stiles screams as the gunshots get closer and shrieks when the back window explodes into a cloud of sharp shards of glass. "WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?"

"I'll explain in a minute!" Derek shouts as he swerves onto the highway, throwing Stiles into the door.

What's next is an intense half hour of weaving through some of Beacon Hills' less savory streets that leaves Stiles shivering and about to cry because _his baby has just been violated_. When Derek brings the Jeep to a skidding halt in the loading zone of a bulk retail store, Stiles flies out of his seat, circling the vehicle with his hands clutching his head. "No, no, _no_! This isn't happening!" He keels over as the image of his Jeep all bruised and bloody becomes too much. His eyes are stinging, and he can feel his stomach rioting in his gut.

"What did you do?" he shrieks. "What kind of sick joke _was_ that? Are you trying to _scare_ me? Threaten me? Because it fucking worked!" He moans nauseously. "_How am I going to explain this to my dad?_"

Derek's not coming out of the Jeep, though, and the lack of response is, despite Stiles' rage, disconcerting. He stops, takes a deep breath. "Derek?"

"Stiles…"

Stiles is up, the damage to his Jeep momentarily forgotten as Derek _actually_ keels over. "Oh, my God!"

He's groaning, rolling over, and that's when Stiles sees the arrow sticking out of his thigh. "_Oh, my God,_ that's an arrow! What – what were you _doing_ to those people?" He kneels by Derek's side, examining the wound. "_Shit_." He takes a closer look at Derek, noticing for the first time how pale and sweaty he looks. He looks, well… he looks _sick_. "Derek, are… are you okay?"

"I – I need – you – to take me – "

"Take you? Take you where?" Stiles is fluttering hopelessly around Derek's collapsed form, his heart in his throat as the adrenaline wracks his body.

"Your – dad?"

"My dad? What about him?" Realization dawns. "Oh, _oh_, he's not home, he's working late – why do you – Oh!" He grabs Derek by his upper arms and tries – really, he _does _try – to drag him back into the Jeep. He's just so _heavy_. "Derek, a little help here would be nice," he grunts.

All he gets in response is incoherent groaning. "Okay, fine. That works, too." After a few minutes of what's really an embarrassing display of what 147 pounds of sass and sarcasm _can't_ do, he somehow manages to get Derek into the Jeep. He climbs in, gingerly perching on the edge of the seat so as to leave Derek's legs undisturbed. He puts the car into drive.

"Stiles, is your dad home? No, Derek, he isn't. Why are you asking? Oh, well, instead of taking me to a hospital, like most rational people might do if there was an _arrow sticking out of their leg_ and they looked like they were missing _three pints of blood_, can't you take me to your house so you can operate on me? Because _every_ kid in high school knows how to remove an arrow from a leg, right? Oh, _of course_, Derek, that sounds like a _great_ plan! Let me get right to it despite the fact that I'd much rather throw you into a ditch and forget you ever bothered me with anything!" Stiles is muttering angrily to himself, something he hasn't done since some jerk at school had said something rude about his mother not long after her death and Stiles got sent to the principal's office for punching him. "I'm having _such_ a lovely time, too, thanks for inviting me out tonight!"

Suddenly, there's a groaning noise behind him that sounds like a gurgled, hacked-up version of Derek saying, "I can explain."

"Oh, my God!" Stiles jerks the wheel as he jumps out of his seat, almost throwing the Jeep into the trees lining the road. "Don't scare me like that, I'm _driving_!"

"How much farther?"

"Like, five minutes, so just hold on."

He can't make any sense out of the groan he gets in response.

By the time he's pulling into the driveway (sheriff's car blessedly absent), Derek's able to hobble out of the Jeep and into the house, but once they're in, he decides he can't go any further, dragging Stiles to the ground as he collapses in the foyer. "Oof!" Stiles picks himself back up, studying the pale, sweating mess that's currently bleeding out on the rug in front of the door. _How am I going to explain _that_?_

"Stiles – the arrow –"

"How am I supposed to get that out of you?" Stiles is pacing, trying not to panic as Derek loses more blood – blood that's getting on the carpet.

"You have to – pull it all the way through my leg."

"_What_?"

"Just do it, Stiles!" Derek glares, his face taut as he props himself up on his elbows. "Do it, or I'll die!"

"Okay!" Stiles looks around; then, without preamble, drags Derek into the kitchen.

"_AAAHHRRWOOOOHHHH!_" Derek actually _howls_ as Stiles moves him, even though he's trying to be as gentle as he can.

"Sorry! I'm sorry! You're dying, I get that, sorry!" He winces as Derek thrashes about, howling louder when he accidentally hits the arrow on a chair. "STOP – MOVING – ME!"

"I _SAID_ I WAS SORRY!" He's panting now, and he's pretty sure he's going to have a panic attack any moment now because when he checks the clock on the microwave he realizes he has two hours before his dad's supposed to get home. _Okay, Stiles, you can do this, it's just like Assassin's Creed except it's happening in your kitchen and it's real. You can do this._ He takes a deep breath before kneeling beside Derek. "Are you ready?"

He nods. Stiles grips his thigh with one hand, and he's about to push the arrow through when he stops and leans back. "Do you want something to dull the pain? Because I know where my dad keeps the hard stuff."

Derek shakes his head. "Not enough time."

"O-kay." He kneels again, this time going through with the whole pushing-a-sharp-point-through-actual-human-flesh thing that made him want to vomit and then pass out.

"_GARRRRRROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAHHHH !_"

Stiles isn't sure if it's the panic, adrenaline, exhaustion, or a combination of all three – but he's pretty sure Derek's face just grew a _lot_ more hair and underwent some instantaneous plastic surgery that left him looking more like a Neanderthal than anything else. When he opens his eyes, Stiles lets out a yelp because they're _glowing_ and they look really, _really _pissed.

But as quickly as it happens, it goes away, leaving Stiles hopelessly confused. He's snapped out of his shock when Derek snarls, "Finish the job!"

By the time Derek's leg has been de-arrowed, sterilized, and wrapped with almost two full rolls of gauze, Stiles has one hour left to clean up the mess they've made before he has to start explaining. He helps Derek up the stairs and into his room, helping him get settled – and hidden. He couldn't have his dad discovering half-naked grown men in his underage son's room, now could he?

The first thing Stiles does is park his Jeep in the garage – he doesn't know how his dad is going to find out, but it won't be as he's pulling in after a long night of over-working. After that, it only takes him thirty minutes to mop up the kitchen and put the first aid kit back in the bathroom. Then he's left staring at the rug in the foyer, which is covered in now-crusty patches of brown, dried-up blood. He checks his watch. Fifteen minutes left. _Great._

Ten minutes pass until he's hit with a sudden burst of inspiration. He works quickly, and he finishes with less than a minute to spare before the sound of keys jangling signals the arrival of the sheriff.

"Stiles?"

"In here, Dad." He's sitting on the couch, watching an infomercial for something to do with bras.

"Why is the door mat missing in the entry way?" Stiles peeks over the couch to see his dad standing in the hall. He's still wearing his boots and gun belt. _Better get that off of him_, he thinks.

"Yeah, see, about that." He gets up, walking past his dad and into the kitchen. "There was a bit of an accident."

He hears the sigh deflate his dad, but he could hardly care because no matter what happens, nothing could be worse than your dad, the sheriff, coming home to a door mat covered in someone else's blood.

He leads his dad to the sink. "See, I was going to clean the faucet head because really, it's disgusting to have so much crap built up on it, don't you think?" He gestures to the faucet, where a whole mess of black goo is clinging to the area surrounding the water spout. "And so, I was carrying the bleach from the laundry room when I tripped, and the lid kind of came off and bleach kind of spilled all over the mat." Now, he gestures to the tortured door mat lying pathetically in the sink. He grimaces. "I'm really sorry about it, Dad."

Sheriff Stilinski sighs, but he doesn't seem too angry. Stiles mentally pats himself on the back. "It's fine. Just… be more careful next time, okay?"

"No problem." Stiles says goodnight, then, and darts up to his room, where he finds Derek nestled comfortably in his closet. He tries not to think of the jokes about when he has to come out, but he finds himself laughing anyway, he's so giddy with relief at having so narrowly avoided what could have been a _huge_ disaster.

"Bleach? Really?" is all Derek says as Stiles starts getting ready for bed.

"You were welcome to suggest something else, but you were too busy rolling around in agony."

"Ha, ha."

Stiles rolls his eyes as he climbs into bed, ignoring Derek's staring as he gets comfortable. "Don't think I'm not planning on getting an explanation," he warns. "Because after all of the shit you've put me through tonight, you owe me at least that." He's speaking into the dark, but he hears Derek as he adjusts his position in the closet.

Stiles sits up, feeling a little more charitable than usual. "Do you want to have the bed? I'll be fine on the floor, I promise." He _did_ just have an arrow sticking out of his leg.

Derek tries to protest, but Stiles is already padding across the room, gingerly lifting him by the shoulder once he gets there. "You really don't –" He stops protesting once he's actually laying down on something more comfortable than a pile of old pillows and blankets. "See?" Stiles says, tucking him in, ignoring the way his pulse starts to race when his hand brushes the bare skin of Derek's torso. "Much better." He turns away before Derek can say anything, pulling the pillows and blankets out of the closet. Once he's fashioned a bed for himself, they're quiet.

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. You saved my life."

"Whatever. It's not like I had much of a choice."

"That's the thing – you did."

"Yeah, well, whatever. Go to sleep."

"Thank you, Stiles."

"Shut up, Derek. I'm _tired_."


	4. Chapter 4

The night goes smoothly, despite a brief scare when both Derek and Stiles think his dad is going to check in on his son before leaving for work at seven. It's a false alarm, though, and they're able to roll over and fall back asleep quite easily. When Stiles wakes up at nine, though, Derek's gone. "Derek?" He stands up, and the urge to vomit grows as he takes in the empty bed. "Derek!"

"Downstairs!" comes a yell. Stiles yelps, but his heart rate goes down by twenty.

"What are you doing?" Stiles finds Derek in the living room, watching the _Today_ show.

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Ignoring the sass, Stiles sits down next to Derek and tries not to appear aware of the irony of the fact that his shirt has a cartoon version of Legolas stamped across the chest.

"Feel better?" He looks better. Derek's color has returned, and aside from the bloodstained strip of gauze circling the middle of his right thigh, he looks completely healthy.

"Yeah," he grunts. "Now shut up – Al Roker's about to do the weather."

Stiles gives him an odd look, but he complies, getting up and heading for the kitchen. It's probably better if he's just not in the room, period.

He decides to surprise Derek with some breakfast. If he's going to get any kind of answer out of him, he might as well do his best to put the odds in his favor. Trying to be as quiet as possible, he throws together an omelet, adds some buttered toast, and is pouring a glass of orange juice when Derek shuffles in. He looks surprised as he takes in the spread. "Breakfast?"

Stiles nods. "I figured, you know, after last night…" He shrugs. "I hope you feel better?"

Derek's smile is small, but it's there. "Thanks." He goes to sit down but stops halfway. "What about you?"

"Nah, I'm fine." Stiles waves a dismissive hand. "I'm more of a cereal person, personally."

"This looks really good." Derek's looking at the cooling plate of food as if it were a precious gift. He takes a bite. "It _tastes_ really good. Where'd you learn to cook like that if you don't eat it?"

"I cook a lot for my dad," he says as he pours a bowl of Frosted Flakes. "He gets really busy, and I get tired of takeout every night."

Derek nods. He's almost done already. _Christ._

"So," Stiles says as he sits down. "What happened last night?"

Derek looks down at his now-empty plate. "Let me scramble some more eggs, and then I'll tell you." He eyes Stiles' bowl carefully. "It's probably better if you eat first, anyway."

Stiles pushes his bowl away. "No, I can wait. Talk now."

Derek breathes loudly through his nose, looking around the room as if he'd find answers on the green wallpaper. "Seriously?" he says.

Stiles crosses his arms. "Yeah, seriously. I need to know why those people wanted you dead." _Among other things_, he adds in his head.

Derek rolls his eyes, but he settles down to talk. "You really want to know what was happening last night."

"No, I was kidding." Stiles rolls his eyes. "Of _course_."

Derek takes a deep breath. He closes his eyes. "You're probably not going to like it."

"I won't like it if you keep trying to put it off like this." Stiles leans back in his chair. "Talk."

Another heavy sigh. "Fine." He pauses, collecting his thoughts. Stiles is patient. "What – what do you want to know first?"

"Who were those people?"

"Hunters."

"Excuse you?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "Hunters. They were hunting me."

Stiles snorts. "What, they're like those crazy people in movies who hunt people for fun and keep their skins as a trophy?"

"No," Derek says with a glower. "They hunt supernatural creatures."

"What, are you an _actual wolfman_?" Derek narrows his eyes at the casual mention of his username, but he nods nonetheless. Stiles' jaw drops, his anger momentarily forgotten. "Wait, _seriously_?"

"For God's sake, _yes_!"

Stiles doesn't jump out of his chair; he falls out and manages to pick himself up just as quickly. "Oh, my God! You aren't kidding!"

"Why would I?"

He's quiet for a moment. He licks his lips. "I… just…" He swallows spit and puts his hands on his hips. "Seriously? Like, legitimately, the full moon comes, and you turn into a wolf."

Derek's eyes are bugging out by now, his eyebrows blending into his hairline. "Yes!"

_So I _wasn't_ hallucinating last night when his face changed. Huh._ Stiles can't help himself. "You're sure?"

Stiles swears, when Derek sighs heavily, it sounds like a horse snorting. "No, I just have a hunch about what I've been my whole life."

He gapes. "Your whole _life_?"

More eye rolling. Stiles is pretty sure Derek's eyes are going to fall out if he keeps doing that. "Yeah. It runs in my family. It's genetic."

"No way!" He's grinning now, despite the fact that he's clutching the back of his chair so hard his knuckles have gone white. He's pretty sure he'll fall if he ever lets go. Okay, maybe he's grimacing, not grinning.

Derek sighs, shaking his head. "Never mind."

"What?" Stiles furrows his brow and adjusts his grip on the chair.

Another sigh. "You know what? I'm leaving. Forget I said anything." He stands, and he's brushing past Stiles before he can process what's happening.

"Derek, don't –"

He whirls on Stiles, face contorted with anger. "No, I'm done. You're not taking this seriously! Do you have _any_ idea of how much danger I put you in last night? How _fragile_ you are? How _guilty_ I feel because, had you been shot by one of those hunters last night, you could have _died_ – and the person that killed you either wouldn't know, or wouldn't care?" Stiles pipes up with something, but Derek drowns him out as he shouts, "It's not a game! This isn't like the Internet, where you get to gallivant around, playing wizard and going on adventures! _This isn't an adventure_. It's not fun – it's awful. It's horrifying. Stiles, I've killed things – not – not a person, but…" He stops, swallowing as he collects himself. "I – I'm dangerous, Stiles. I could _hurt_ you, I…" He shakes his head again, turning away. "Just, never mind. I'll pay for the damage to your Jeep. It's – don't worry about it."

Stiles is speechless as Derek opens the door. It's only until _after_ he's let it swing closed that he realizes what's happening. "Wait, no!" By the time he's slowing to a jog at the end of the driveway, though, Derek's gone. "Don't… go." The street's empty, and a bird starts shrieking in a tree somewhere as Stiles grinds his teeth. "Great. Just great."

He cleans the kitchen, dismissing the soggy cereal as a lost cause; he isn't hungry anymore, anyway. Angrily muttering about manners and communication skills as he works, he remains irritated until he clomps upstairs to his room, where he just stands in the doorway for a few minutes and stares at the mess of sheets and blankets left behind by Derek. Then he's just kind of sad.

He takes a shower. He tries to keep his mind away from Derek, tries to focus on being angry, on sulking, but soon enough he's bracing a hand against the tile, tilting his head back and opening his mouth in a silent scream as he rubs himself into a nice stupor. Hey, he's only human. When he gets out, he doesn't even bother finding clothes, just grabs the comforter from the bed and wraps himself up in Derek's manly scent.

Obviously, he isn't expecting any visitors, which is why he nearly falls out of his chair when Scott's voice disturbs his Buffy: the Vampire Slayer marathon. "What the fuck?" he cries from the floor. "How did you get in?"

"You _do_ remember that I've had a key to your house for like, two years now, right?" Scott's looking at Stiles as if he'd caught him doing something really shady instead of watching TV on his computer. Granted, Stiles is naked under his blanket, but Scott doesn't need to know that. "You okay?" Scott asks.

"Yeah," he says, nodding. "Fine."

"Why are you wrapped up like a burrito, then? I've never seen you do that."

"I… Can you give me a moment?"

"Why? You're not naked under there or anything, right?"

"…What if I was?"

He leaves.

Stiles finds him in the living room, slumped in the same spot Derek had been occupying a few hours ago. He's watching cartoons. "So, what brings you to my humble abode?" he asks, falling back into the recliner.

Scott shrugs. "Allison was busy, and we haven't hung out in a while."

"You couldn't call?"

He shrugs again. "I figured you weren't doing anything?" He sits up and looks at Stiles. "Oh, God, was Derek here? Was that – Did you guys – You were _naked_!"

"Oh, my God, no, no, no no no no no." Stiles shakes his head vehemently, and he can feel the heat rising up his neck. He laughs, a little hysterical. "You – _seriously_?"

Now it's Scott's turn to blush. "I just – last time we talked you – I mean, you've known him for a long time, so it's not… like… I'll just shut up!" He buries his face in one of the surrounding pillows while Stiles continues to laugh. "Shut up!" His voice comes out muffled, but it's thick with embarrassment.

Stiles stops laughing. "Nah, I don't even think Derek has any plans for that right now…" He stares at the far wall of the room, grimacing.

Scott's concerned face re-emerges from the pillow. "What do you mean?"

Stiles' eyes turn to his hands, which are fidgeting in his lap. "I… He slept over last night, and this morning we… had a fight." _A one-sided fight, but whatever_, he adds bitterly.

"He _slept over_?" Scott raises an eyebrow, but when Stiles only glowers, he puts it to rest. "What did you fight about?"

"Well, you see –" Stiles stops talking, suddenly unsure of what he should say. Knowing Scott, simply going with the whole-truth-and-nothing-but-the-truth approach would probably only end in panicked yelling and a broken lamp (seriously, it's happened before), but completely and outright lying would only come around to kick Stiles in the ass later. _Do I? Do I really?_ He goes for it. "I'll have to show you."

"What?" Scott's already jumping up, though, and as Stiles leads him to the garage, he can practically see his friend leaning so far forward he looks like he's about to fall over.

Before he opens the door, though, he turns around, eyebrows raised in warning. "Before I show you, Scott, you have to promise that you won't tell anyone, okay?"

"Okay, I promise," Scott says impatiently. Stiles rolls his eyes, twisting the knob. He flips the light switch. "Holy crap!"

_There she blows_. And there she was, in all of her battle-scarred glory. Pockmarked by bullets, the back window blown out (there were still shards of glass littering the interior), she was a sight to see. Scott's jaw looked like it was about to hit the floor. "What _happened_?"

"Now, _that_, I don't know if I can tell you," Stiles says, crossing his arms. Scott starts to protest incredulously, but Stiles is having none of it. "To be honest, I don't know how much I even know." That's mostly true. "But something crazy happened, and when Derek tried to explain it to me, it ended in a fight, and he left." He shrugs. "And that's all there is to it, really."

Scott scoffs. "You're seriously going to show me this and then have the nerve to tell me you can't explain it? What kind of friend are you?"

"A smart one." Stiles turns off the light, going to close the door whether Scott's following or not. They end up back in the living room.

"And I mean it," Stiles says once they're sitting down again. "You actually _cannot_ talk about this. To anyone."

"Not even –"

"Nope! Not even Allison. _Especially_ not Allison."

"Why not?"

"Because…" Stiles doesn't know how to say _because I don't need more people realizing my boyfriend is a werewolf_ without actuallysaying it. He goes with, "Because Derek hasn't told me everything… and I don't want rumors being spread. That's all."

Already, Scott's sulking. "Fine."

They go back to watching TV, but there's still some tension in the room. Stiles knows that Scott knows he isn't telling him everything – and he feels this hard lump of guilt in the center of his stomach because of it, but he knows that he also has to protect Derek. _Fucking werewolves_, he grumbles silently.

It takes Derek less time to contact Stiles after this catastrophe than last time, and for that, Stiles is grateful – but not _too _grateful Mostly because apparently, Derek doesn't understand the idea of Stiles still being in school.

"_What_?" Stiles hisses into the phone. It's the middle of fifth period, he's taking notes on romanticism in the nineteenth century, and his phone has been vibrating on and off against his leg for the better part of ten minutes. Now he's hunched over, pretending to dig through his backpack for another pen so his teacher might possibly fail to notice the phone he's squeezing between his ear and shoulder. "I'm in _school_."

"Oh, sorry." That's the thing – Derek doesn't sound sorry at all. "I would call back, but – I hope you're not busy."

Stiles involuntarily twitches, but he feels like he's doing a pretty good job handling his urges to smash everything in the room and scream. "Have you even been listening to me?" he snarls.

"Stiles!"

_Shit!_ He drops his phone into his bag, forgetting to hang up in the process. "Y-yes, Mrs. Page?"

"Your presence is required somewhere else," is all she says. Stiles, speechless and gaping like a grouper, doesn't notice the yellow slip of paper she had dropped on his desk until the girl sitting next to him taps an electric blue nail next to it and whispers, "You should go."

"Oh." He numbly collects his things and leaves, bumping into what seems like ten desks on his way out. Once in the hallway, he looks at the sheet of paper. Apparently, he's being checked out. _Good God._

When he gets to the attendance office, he can't tell if he's surprised or not to find Derek waiting. The lady behind the desk doesn't look impressed. "He says he's your cousin," she says dubiously.

"I – he is." Stiles signs himself out, and as he's following Derek out, he notices the secretary checking out Derek's retreating form. He glares at her, but she doesn't appear to have any shame.

Derek doesn't notice Stiles' scowl until they're safely in the Camaro. "You're seriously still mad at me for calling you during school?"

Stiles makes a face. "No, I'm not." (He is.) "The lady behind the desk was checking out your ass as you were leaving. I didn't like it."

Derek laughs. "You're kidding."

"I'm not!" Derek just continues to laugh, though, pulling out of his parking spot and zooming away. Stiles grabs onto the handle of the door to keep from sliding out of his seat. He's scowling again, too. _Can't believe he has the nerve to _laugh_ after all the shit he's put me through. Idiot._

A few minutes pass in silence, but after a while Stiles can't contain himself (he never can). "Where are we going?"

"Back to the Hale house."

"What?" Stiles scrambles into a more upright position, and he's pretty sure that, had there been no door, he would have fallen out of the car. "Why do we have to go _there_? Can't we go somewhere _safe_?"

"It _should_ be safe, that's the thing." Derek keeps his eyes on the road as he speaks. "The Argents will think that I wouldn't risk going back there, and –"

"Wait, the _Argents_?" Stiles isn't sure he heard right, and Derek doesn't answer immediately. In fact, he waits until they reach a red light (it takes seven minutes) to turn and face Stiles, who's seething by this point.

"How do you know about the Argents?"

"Um, I _don't_ know about them. Scott's dating an Allison Argent."

Derek turns his attention back to the road as the car in front starts moving, his brow furrowed. "I don't know her. But I'm sure they'll start training her, if they haven't already."

"Training?"

"You don't think she's not going to become one of them?"

"I…" Stiles feels the knot in his stomach grow tighter. "I wish she wouldn't."

"And why is that?"

Stiles looks at his hands, fidgeting in his lap again. "Because that means there's one more person out there who wants to hurt you," he mumbles. He might want to tie Derek to a chair and hit him a lot, but he still remembers the kissing and dating and, well, their _relationship_.

Derek's silent for the rest of the ride.

When they arrive at the Hale house, Stiles isn't sure what's supposed to happen next. Derek parks and turns off the car… and then he just settles into his seat and continues looking forward, almost as if Stiles isn't even there. Stiles adjusts his position in his seat a bit. He rubs his nose, sniffs. He blinks. He sits up straighter and opens his mouth.

"Is this the moment where you're going to explain everything that's happened so far?"

Derek glares. "I thought I did."

Scoffing, Stiles says, "Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize telling someone you're a werewolf completely absolves you of the fact that you put someone _unwillingly_ through what was without a doubt the most terrifying and stressful night of their lives." As Derek tries to respond with something, Stiles perks up. "Oh! Not to mention the fact that said terrifying experience was meant to be the moment where you explain why, exactly, you decided to completely fall off of the planet right after initiating phone sex with me!"

Derek sighs. "Yeah, I probably shouldn't have done that."

"Oh, _really_?" _Very good, Derek! _"So after making that mistake you decided it was a good idea to just pretend the last year of knowing each other, as well as the last four months of some kind of… thing happening between us didn't happen? Yeah, that sounds like a _really_ logical thing to do!"

"Stiles, I'm sorry!" The way Derek's yell sounds in the silence of his car attracts part of Stiles' attention; the other part is focusing on the anger and confusion playing tug-of-war across Derek's face. "I'm sorry I've been like this. Sorry I was stupid, and that you got hurt in the process." He looks down at his lap, dejected. "I feel so shitty for the way I treated you last week, and then the _disaster_ that was the other night, I –" He lets out a sigh before looking up. "It wasn't like I _planned_ for us to get chased by gun-toting hunters, okay? I still feel awful about the way I put you in danger like that."

Stiles crosses his arms. _Yeah, okay_. He's not going to forgive Derek that easily. When he doesn't say anything, Derek hits the steering wheel, and both jump when the horn breaks the tense silence. Huffing in frustration (Stiles still swears he sounds just like a horse), Derek gets out of the car to pace. Stiles waits a minute before joining him outside.

"Honestly, I don't know what else I can do to get you to believe me when I say I'm sorry," he says, throwing up his hands in defeat. "I'm sorry I fucked up. I don't know how else to put it."

Stiles shoves his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, glaring at him. "Yeah, you _did_ fuck up."

"And I'm trying to make it up to you!"

"Well, _trying_ isn't hard enough!" Stiles flinches involuntarily when Derek takes a sudden step towards him.

He turns and takes a few steps away from him, his hands clutching his hair in frustration. "What can I _do_, Stiles? What can I do to get you to stop being so angry with me?" He kicks a stray rock, and it goes sailing into the trees. "I don't want you to be mad at me forever!"

"I don't want to be mad at you forever, either!" Derek stops pacing angrily at this, and Stiles can't help but notice how nice his mouth looks when it's hanging open in surprise like it is now. He shrugs at Derek's blank expression. "It's not like I enjoy this, you know. But at the same time, you can't expect me to roll over and ignore all this shit that's been going on with you."

Derek doesn't speak, just kicks another rock out of the clearing. "I'm only seventeen, Derek," he says. "I'm still a kid, my hormones are still rampaging through my body, and I'm only just starting to figure out who I am. I spent nine years of my life worshipping the same girl. Still worship her, actually," he adds as an aside to himself. "But then there's you, who notices me, and likes me, and wants to have phone sex with me." He notices the twitch of a smile at the corner of Derek's mouth, and he's encouraged. "And maybe he happens to be a werewolf. So what?" He shrugs.

"You seriously don't care that I'm a werewolf."

"Well, I'm hoping you like me enough to stop yourself from eating me." He smiles, but Derek's dour face kind of kills it. "Look, it's weird, yes, and I'm still not sure it's actually sunk in." (It hasn't.) "But I think I know you well enough to trust you. I _want_ to, at least. But if you keep up this habit of being a total flake about everything, well, maybe you're not the person I thought I knew."

Derek shakes his head. "I don't want that to happen."

"And you think Ido?" Stiles sits down on a nearby stump. "You have to trust me, Derek. You have to believe that I won't abandon you because of some weird werewolf shenanigans."

"And if I do? Start trusting you, I mean," he adds when Stiles wrinkles his brow.

"Just reply to my texts, damn it."

"Well, if that's all I have to do…" Stiles narrows his eyes, but Derek laughs. The tension seems to be gone now – for the most part.

After a few minutes of easy silence, Stiles asks, "Did you live here?"

"Yeah. When I was a kid." Derek picks up a stick – well, a _branch_ – and tosses it into the trees, and it takes much longer than Stiles would normally anticipate before he hears it hit the ground. He carefully watches the werewolf as he picks up another one, the scorched shell of the old Hale house squatting behind them.

"And your family left when it burned down." It isn't a question; Stiles remembers the fire, mostly because he remembers how his dad hardly slept trying to piece it all together. He also remembers that the arsonist wasn't caught, and that no one had been home when the fire had started.

Derek nods to the branch in his hand. "My uncle got wind of the Argents' plan, and thankfully he was able to get everyone out." He looks up, eyeing a good spot to throw. "After that, my parents decided it was too dangerous for me and Laura and had us pack up and go to New York, where we have some family."

"Why did you come back, then?"

Now Derek makes eye contact with Stiles, a slight smile tugging at his thin lips. "To see you." Stiles looks at his knees, still knobby even through the thick denim of his jeans. He's blushing. He hears a laugh from Derek's vicinity. "What, you think I just happened to be in the area?" When he doesn't look up, he hears footsteps, and within a few seconds he sees Derek's worn boots enter his field of vision. He feels a hand graze his arm. "I wanted to meet you. To be able to do this." The hand moves to rest against Stiles' waist as the other gently nudges his chin up so green eyes could meet brown. For a moment nothing happens; Derek just rests his forehead against Stiles' head as the teenager hardly dares to breathe.

Then they're kissing, and it's all Stiles can do to keep from falling off of the stump when Derek nudges his thighs apart and presses himself into the gap. He gasps and shudders at the close contact, making Derek smile into the kiss. "Watch yourself," he murmurs. When Stiles does nothing but moan, he laughs and pulls away. Stiles whines, but he shakes his head. "You're going to go into cardiac arrest if you keep this kind of behavior up," Derek says with exaggerated concern.

"No, it's going to be because _you_ keep denying me catharsis," Stiles mumbles angrily.

"That's only because _you_ are underage." Stiles glares, but he knows Derek's right. Doesn't mean he can't complain about it, though.

He tries changing the subject to something a bit less awkward. "How's your leg?"

"My leg? What about – oh." Derek shrugs and smiles like he's be caught doing something he knows he isn't supposed to be doing. "It was healed by the time we were going to sleep that night."

"It _what_?" Stiles gapes. "I don't know what I'm angrier at. Is it because you withheld that kind of information from me, or because I went through all of that effort sterilizing and bandaging something that healed in less time than it took to take the arrow out?"

He shrugs again, the bastard. "In response to that first one, I didn't tell you because I didn't really have a chance to. And as for the latter, sterilizing the wound _did_ help. That arrow was tipped in wolfsbane, and if you hadn't cleaned it out, I probably would have died."

"You're kidding! _Wolfsbane_ is actually a thing?"

More shrugging. _I swear, I'm going to punch him if he shrugs again._ "Yeah. It's like a toxin to us."

_Of course._ "I don't suppose silver bullets work, too, then?"

He scoffs. "That one's just ridiculous."

"Please, excuse my ignorance of what kills werewolves. Information on that is everywhere, I know, I'm just apathetic at best."

"Ha, ha."

Stiles scowls as he kicks away a rock. "You don't have to be a jerk about it," he grumbles.

"I'm not the one using sarcasm as a defense mechanism."

"You –" Stiles chews the inside of his lower lip. "Shut up."

He laughs again, and he comes closer when Stiles holds his arms out as an invitation to hug. They stay like that, with Stiles' face smushed into Derek's chest as Derek bends his head to bury his nose in what hair Stiles has. "Why do you smell so strongly of me?" he asks, his voice muffled by hair and skin. Stiles can feel the rumble of the words in his chest, though, and it feels nice.

Now it's his turn to shrug. "I haven't had time to wash my comforter," is all he says. He doesn't mention the bit about wrapping himself up in it naked.

They're quiet for a few minutes, with Stiles hugging Derek and Derek, well, smelling Stiles. Nuzzling into Derek's warm chest, Stiles mumbles, "So, we're agreeing that I shouldn't be mad at you anymore if you start trusting me more, right?"

Derek pulls away, and Stiles groans in complaint. He gets a faint smile in response, but it's quickly replaced by a grim expression. He grabs Stiles' hands unconsciously, studying them as he says, "I'm still not sure if this is a good idea." Stiles immediately starts to protest, but Derek shushes him. "I… I still feel guilty about what happened with the hunters, how…" He swallows, and Stiles watches his Adam's apple bob. "I think about how easily you could have been hurt, and how all of it would be my fault. And I keep thinking about how, if you stay with me, it's bound to happen again." He meets Stiles' eye. "You're constantly in danger, being with me. And I'm still not sure if I can handle constantly weighing the risk of having you around."

Uncharacteristically enough, Stiles is quiet for a moment as he contemplates this, and the whole time Derek's watching him and playing with his hands. "You know," he finally says. "I _do_ like to think that I'm smart enough to handle myself." He smiles reassuringly at Derek's dubious look. "I can learn everything there is to know about werewolves, and full moons, and hunters, and I wouldn't be surprised if there was a website with tips for handling your supernatural better half." When Derek quirks an eyebrow, Stiles adds, "And if there isn't, you can sure as hell bet there will be, if I have anything to do with it."

"I'm not surprised." And then they're kissing again, and it feels like all is as it should be.


	5. Chapter 5

That is, until the hunters show up again.

"Is it really that hard for them to _wait_ a few days?" Stiles yells in frustration as Derek's Camaro goes speeding down Beacon Hills' busiest street, a maroon SUV trailing them like a really suspicious shadow. "It's Tuesday, for God's sake!"

"Stiles, no offense, but now is _not_ the time for you to start complaining!"

"You know, when you said you needed help, this wasn't exactly what I had imagined you meant!" The SUV's getting closer, and Stiles can feel his heartbeat increasing as he watches it weave through traffic in the rearview mirror. "I shouldn't be surprised, though, now that I think about it."

It hadn't seemed so dangerous when Derek had texted him thirty minutes ago, telling him he was welcome to come along on what he deemed "werewolf shenanigans." Stiles had just finished cleaning up dinner, his dad was watching a movie on the TV, and he had already done all of his homework. His night was open – at least, until he had to go to bed for school the next day.

Of course he should have expected this. Really, he should've.

Derek's taking a wide turn into the parking lot of the movie theater then, throwing Stiles into the door for what seemed like the millionth time that night. "Hey, fragile human here!" he shouts.

Derek grunts an apology, but Stiles doesn't think it's all that sincere. "Hey – Hey! Why are we stopping?" He shrinks into a ball as the Camaro slows down, the SUV pulling up next to it. "Derek! Go! I thought we were supposed to be running _away_ from the hunters, not meeting up with them!"

He's ignored, though, and he deflates a little as Derek gets out of the car. His heart leaps into his throat when he sees Allison's dad emerge from the SUV. _Oh, my God, it's seriously Allison's family_. He hadn't realized until then that he had been hoping Derek had been talking about a different Argent family.

He can't hear what they're saying, but it looks peaceful, for the most part. That is, until more people get out of the SUV, including –

_That has to be the most terrifying crossbow I have ever laid eyes on._ "Holy shit."

Allison doesn't exactly look comfortable being involved in a supernatural showoff in the back end of the movie theater parking lot, but she doesn't exactly look like someone to mess with, either. He shrinks down further, hoping she won't be able to see him through the windshield. She does. _Fuck_.

Her dad notices as she breaks away from the standoff, but he doesn't do anything as she walks over to the window of the Camaro. She taps on the window. "Stiles? Is that you?"

_Just let me die_. He rolls down the window. "Allison. Hey…" He smiles sheepishly. "Didn't know you were, ah, involved in this stuff, too, huh? The coincidences we find ourselves in." He laughs, if a trifle hysterically.

"What are you doing here?" She looks over at Derek, confused. "This isn't – Oh, my God." A gasp. Stiles closes his eyes and tries to disappear. "That's Derek! _Your_ Derek!"

"Ding ding, we have a winner," he squeaks.

"But I – do you know? About him, I mean."

"I appreciate the way you're walking on eggshells around the fragile human, really, I do." Stiles is getting irritated now. _Seriously, is it so hard to have _one_ night without something going horribly awkward and wrong? I was promised shenanigans, not this! _"But honestly, Allison, don't you think I'd be freaking out a bit more if I _wasn't_ aware of what's happening? I'm a smart boy."

"Sorry, I just…" She tucks a strand of hair behind an ear, looking down at her feet. Or at the deadly weapon in her hand, Stiles isn't sure. "This is so weird."

"Tell me about it." They chuckle nervously.

"Um, well, if it makes you feel any better, I don't think my dad's planning on killing your boyfriend."

"You really do have a way with easing people's worries," he deadpans.

Rolling her eyes, she says, "Look, my parents dragged me out here to do some kind of training exercise, and next thing I know I'm looking at you through the windshield of a werewolf's car. It's been weird tonight."

He laughs. "I got a text thirty minutes ago saying he needed help with 'werewolf shenanigans.'"

"Seriously?"

"Well, I originally came up with the whole 'shenanigans' thing, but still." He tries changing the subject to something a bit less awkward. "How's Scott?"

"You saw him at school –"

"Allison!"

Her head twists, dark hair flying as her dad waves her over. "We're done here! Stop talking to your friend from school."

"I'll see you tomorrow," she mumbles as she leaves him with a sheepish smile. Stiles is left gaping, not sure what just happened.

"What was that?" Derek's buckling his seatbelt now, and he's upset. _Well, you would be upset, too, if you had to deal with scary hunters on a daily basis_, Stiles tells himself.

"What was what?" He fakes being innocent as Derek starts to glower.

"Talking to one of them? What if she was distracting you so the rest could kill me?"

He slouches lower in his seat, mumbling, "Well, sorry for trusting someone I hang out with on a regular basis."

Derek sighs. "I'm sorry." _Hey, he's getting better at apologizing, at least_. "I just – it's stressful for me, okay?"

"Hey, I believe you." He perks up as a realization hits him. "Why are these hunters so determined to get you?" When Derek raises his eyebrows, he pushes on, "I mean, you're in town for what, a week? And as soon as you get here, they're hot on your trail. What's up with that?"

"I…" Derek takes his hands off of the gearshift and sighs. "My family and the Argents have a long history, and after the fire… once my family realized how close we'd come to death, we all moved away. My grandparents moved to Texas, my uncle Peter to Florida, me and my parents and sister to New York – all over the country. And when that happened, it was like this unspoken treaty between us and the Argents – we move away, they leave us alone; they don't pursue us. And it's been that way ever since. So, when Chris Argent heard his daughter casually mentioning a Derek who's older visiting town, he got suspicious." He nods to Stiles. "That was Saturday. After our fight the next morning – shut _up_, it was a fight!"

He's glaring now as Stiles continues to scoff. "I was being perfectly nice to you, okay? _You're_ the one who freaked out."

"Whatever." He rolls his eyes, but Stiles knows he knows he's right. "Anyway," he says, "After I left, I met up with Chris, and we agreed to work something out. He didn't want to kill me, last night had been a panic, yadda yadda yadda. So tonight was supposed to be exactly that – a peace talk." When Stiles scoffs again, he shoves him. "I just wasn't expecting them to _chase_ me all the way here."

"So that's it," Stiles says once Derek's finished. "That's the story."

"Well… yeah. Pretty much."

"Still haven't explained the whole disappearing-for-four-days debacle."

"Wha – I thought I did!"

Stiles crosses his arms over his chest. "Nope."

By now Derek's sigh of frustration is more like a growl, but Stiles doesn't care. Werewolf or not, he still has some 'splainin' to do.

He stares at Stiles for a moment before opening his mouth. "I was freaking out over the fact that I was going insane thinking about defiling you, who are underage, and whose dad is a sheriff! With a gun! Okay?"

Stiles stares back. "Seriously?"

"What?" he snaps.

"You…" Stiles grins. "You want to _defile_ me?"

Derek looks up to the ceiling in desperation. "Maybe that's not the right word, but –"

"That is so _hot_!"

He narrows his eyes. "Shut up."

"Just _how_ do you want to defile me, Derek?" Stiles leans toward Derek's hostile form, grinning in what he hopes is a seductive manner (it isn't, but Derek gives him props for trying – anyway, it's cute). "I hope you're planning on bending me over the hood of your car one of these days and _really_ going at it with –"

Derek clamps his lips together, but he somehow manages to keep babbling, albeit incoherently. He lays his head in his lap, making his eyes wide and innocent. "Stiles, please shut up before I do something that'll get me arrested."

"But I love –"

"Stiles, shut _up_." But Derek's smiling as he pushes him into a sitting position and turns to take him home.

* * *

As it turns out, part of Derek's "peace talk" with the Argents included his promising to be back in New York by the end of the week.

"No, you can't leave me!" Stiles clings to Derek, who only smiles and places a soothing hand on top of his head.

"It's only a year and a half," he says softly.

"But Scott doesn't visit me at the arcade," Stiles grumbles as he nuzzles Derek's broad chest. "No one else appreciates me in my uniform like you do."

"What can I say? You really know how to work brightly colored striped pants."

Stiles groans as Derek laughs. "You can hide in my room if you have to. I'll keep you save from Allison's family."

"Stiles, we've done the long distance thing before. It'll be okay."

"But that was _before_ I realized how much better it is having you actually here."

"There's always phone sex." Stiles looks up to see Derek grinning like the douche bag he is.

He narrows his eyes. "You can still get arrested for that, you know. My dad has a gun."

"So I've been told."

He flops down beside Derek, sighing deeply and melodramatically. They're laying on his bed, it's an hour after school, there's a mountain of homework piled on top of his desk, and all Stiles wants to do is admire the way the sunlight coming in through the window is making Derek's hair the most wonderful shade of espresso he's ever seen. He reaches up to touch it, and Derek moves his head out of his reach. "Hey," he whines. "Stop that."

"We need to get your Jeep in before I go so I can pay." Derek studies the ceiling as he talks, and Stiles watches with rapt attention as his Adam's apple vibrates with his vocal chords. Without thinking, he leans over to kiss it, surprising Derek. "Don't do that again," he grumbles. Stiles just laughs.

He sits up and stretches. "You should do your homework. I don't want to be the reason you don't get into Berkley or wherever it is you said you wanted to go."

"Are you kidding?" Stiles is stretching, too, like a cat. "It's NYU or nothing, pal."

"Really."

"Don't act surprised."

"I'm not."

"Good."

Derek gets up, then, watching with lukewarm amusement as Stiles holds his hands out, fingers grasping air. "Come back," he says softly. Derek starts explaining how he can't, how he _shouldn't_, when Stiles interrupts with, "Jack, come back!"

Derek pushes his leg so he ends up laying diagonally across the bed, rolling over as he laughs. "Come back, Jack!"

"This isn't Titanic!" Derek frowns. "I'm not dying!"

"But my heart will go on!"

He rolls his eyes, probably questioning every decision that's led him to this point. "Do your homework."

"Hey, when can I meet your family?" The question catches Derek off-guard, but Stiles is serious.

He shrugs. "I don't know. When you're at NYU? Just how much of my family do you want to meet?"

"All of them, of course." Derek raises a dubious brow, but Stiles ignores it, because what he's about to say is pure gold. He grins. "Gotta meet 'em all, gotta meet 'em all!"

"You are the worst." Derek looks tortured, but he laughs as he looks up at the ceiling. "You can start with Laura. She'll like you because you'll just join in when she makes fun of me."

"Will she tell me why, despite the fact that you look like a dangerous high school dropout, you spend your time on an online gaming community that battles mythical creatures?"

He narrows his eyes. "No."

"Aw, come on!" Stiles sits up. "I have to know! There is no way you can dress that cool and feel a need to battle orcs on the computer at the same time!"

He raises a brow. "You seriously can't figure that one out?"

"It's been bothering me ever since you showed up."

"Seriously?" The other brow shoots up to join its partner.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" Stiles is starting to become cross.

"Has it ever occurred to you that it's hard to make friends when you could potentially turn and kill them without meaning to?" Derek looks uncomfortable, and Stiles is sure his gaping expression isn't helping.

"I… can see that now."

They're quiet. Derek shuffles his feet a bit while Stiles looks on in fascination because he's just been reminded that _his boyfriend is a werewolf._

"I want to see you all wolfed-out or whatever someday," he says. Going by the expression on Derek's face when he looks up, you'd think Stiles had suggested they kill a baby.

"No. _That_ – That isn't happening. Ever."

"What!"

"Nope! No, no, no, and _no_, Stiles! I'm serious!" By now Stiles is wrapping his arms around Derek's waist, face turned up in what he hopes is a pleading manner. He tries to peel him off, but he's stuck fast. "Stiles, let go of me!"

"What about in a few years? I can cover myself in wolfsbane before you do it! Please?"

Derek stops trying to extricate himself from the viselike grip to make a face. "That's just gross."

Stiles, giving up, falls to the floor with a dramatic _thump_. His eyes go wide as he looks up Derek's tall frame. "Please?" he says in a tiny voice.

"I'll think about it."

"I love you."

Derek's taken aback, but a small smile starts to bloom as he says, "I love you, too, you freak."

"Not as much of a freak as you are."

"Some people could disagree with that argument." He nudges Stiles with his foot, gentle. "Now get up. You have that Euro essay to write."

"Will you stay, at least?" Stiles still isn't getting up, so Derek gives up and sits on the edge of the bed.

"Is that a good idea?"

"Probably not."

"I'll stay."

"I love you."

"Shut up."

* * *

A/N: Aaaaand I think that's it! This is already so much longer than I'd intended it to be (like, 15,000 words longer lol) but whatever. I'm happy with it. I hope you liked it!


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